CityView Magazine

18 | April • 2014 By Mary ZaHran on second thought streets of Paris as a backdrop for his dancing. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers glided across moonlit verandas and stately ballrooms. We were stuck with the harsh neon lights of Sears and Roebuck. I spent the evening serving punch and replenishing food trays. I even enjoyed an occasional dance with my friend Da- vid. It was not the most exciting social event I had ever at- tended, but at least when I was busy serving refreshments, I didn't have time to stand around with groups of nervous girls hoping someone would ask me to dance. e real fun began aer the prom, when the chaperones went home and the alcoholic beverages came out. Almost everyone went to the aer party, a post-prom tradition always held at the Elks Club. I rode to the Elks Club with a boy I barely knew. His name was Robert and he offered several of us leaving the prom a ride. Since none of us had any plans, including how we were going to get home, we got in his car. Everyone else climbed in the backseat, so I sat in the front with him. Robert had a large paper cup filled with crushed ice, Mountain Dew and Smirnoff vodka that he sipped slowly as we sped towards the clubhouse. I thought he was the epitome of sophistication. Aer several hours of consuming his special libation, this epitome of sophistication turned into a drunken wretch. When I last saw him, he was kneeling on the floor of the men's bathroom, apparently setting a world record for the most vomit ever produced by one person in a single evening. Judging from what I saw, I'm pretty sure he made it into the record books. What to do next? Obviously, both alcohol and the Elks Club had lost their allure. Besides, it was almost dawn. We did what any group of young people do (then and now) when they've partied too much and have only $17.00 between them…we went to Waffle House. Aer spending one hour and all of our money on caffeine, fat and sugar, we were all ready to go home and go to bed. However, one of the guys in our group had something else in mind. He decided that we needed stop by the country club to run around on the golf course before anybody showed up to play. Before anyone could protest, we were sneaking onto the club greens. Running on pure adrenaline at this point, we all began chasing each other and playing hide-and-seek. What a perfect night. I had danced at my prom, I hadn't broken my neck falling off of my platform shoes and my hair was still glued firmly in place. Life was good. I was so happy that I didn't mind one bit when the golf course sprinkler system came on as we were lying on the grass. All of the other girls started screaming and running away, upset that their silk gowns would be ruined. But I just lay there and smiled. Why should I be afraid of a little water? I had on my polyester, wash-and-wear prom dress. CV Mary Zahran, who no longer thinks that Mountain Dew and vodka is a sophisticated beverage, can be reached at maryzahran@gmail.com. A h, springtime. e season of gentle sunshine, balmy breezes, golden daf- fodils and…high school proms. I remember all too well my junior prom in the spring of 1973. Polyester clothing was all the rage, so I made the bold fashion choice to forgo a silk or satin dress and select instead a yellow, wash-and-wear, polyester double- knit gown complete with matching platform shoes. e shoes were so high off the ground that they should have come with an airsickness bag and a set of landing instructions. My choice of attire was critical because I had an important role to play at my prom, a role that others could only dream of playing…I was the chairperson of the refreshment commit- tee. Let my silly classmates be King and Queen of the Prom. Let them smile and wear crowns and pose for pictures as they danced the first dance. I was the Princess of Punch, the Mis- tress of Mints, the Countess of Cheese Straws. I was nearly mad with power and the catering kitchen was my fiefdom. Although a menu of nuts, mints, cheese straws, finger sandwiches and punch sounds mind-numbingly simple, much planning went into its creation. Mrs. Johnson, the typ- ing teacher and advisor to the refreshment committee, held several meetings to finalize this exhaustive offering of five items. She once spoke for thirty minutes extolling the virtues of pimento cheese. e Allied Forces planning the Invasion of Normandy did not have as many meetings as my high school prom refreshment committee did. Probably because Mrs. Johnson was not one of their staff members. e day of the prom finally arrived. I went to the beauty shop (no one called it a hair salon then), where the beauti- cian sprayed an entire can of Aqua Net on my hair to ensure that it would not move for the next three days. With my hair glued firmly in place, I dashed home, jumped into my yellow polyester frock, laced up my platform shoes and headed for the local mall, where the decorating committee had spent the aernoon attempting to transform the interior of a shopping center into a tropical landscape. e theme of our prom was "Dancing in the Moonlight," a title borrowed from the popular song that had graced the airwaves for months prior to our big event. Despite the val- iant efforts of the decorating committee, no one was going to mistake our mall for an island paradise. We had to make do with what we had. Gene Kelly had the in the Dancing Moonlight

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